She gripped with both hands at

the iron railing.


"Come!"


No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in

frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.


"Eveline! Evvy!"


He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was

shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face

to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign

of love or farewell or recognition.


AFTER THE RACE


THE cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like

pellets in the groove of the Naas Road. At the crest of the hill at

Inchicore sightseers had gathered in clumps to watch the cars

careering homeward and through this channel of poverty and

inaction the Continent sped its wealth and industry. Now and again

the clumps of people raised the cheer of the gratefully oppressed.

Their sympathy, however, was for the blue cars--the cars of their

friends, the French.


The French, moreover, were virtual victors. Their team had

finished solidly; they had been placed second and third and the

driver of the winning German car was reported a Belgian. Each

blue car, therefore, received a double measure of welcome as it

topped the crest of the hill and each cheer of welcome was

acknowledged with smiles and nods by those in the car. In one of

these trimly built cars was a party of four young men whose spirits

seemed to be at present well above the level of successful

Gallicism: in fact, these four young men were almost hilarious.

They were Charles Segouin, the owner of the car; Andre Riviere, a

young electrician of Canadian birth; a huge Hungarian named

Villona and a neatly groomed young man named Doyle. Segouin

was in good humour because he had unexpectedly received some

orders in advance (he was about to start a motor establishment in

Paris) and Riviere was in good humour because he was to be

appointed manager of the establishment; these two young men

(who were cousins) were also in good humour because of the

success of the French cars. Villona was in good humour because

he had had a very satisfactory luncheon; and besides he was an

optimist by nature. The fourth member of the party, however, was

too excited to be genuinely happy.


He was about twenty-six years of age, with a soft, light brown

moustache and rather innocent-looking grey eyes. His father, who

had begun life as an advanced Nationalist, had modified his views

early. He had made his money as a butcher in Kingstown and by

opening shops in Dublin and in the suburbs he had made his

money many times over. He had also been fortunate enough to

secure some of the police contracts and in the end he had become

rich enough to be alluded to in the Dublin newspapers as a

merchant prince. He had sent his son to England to be educated in

a big Catholic college and had afterwards sent him to Dublin

University to study law. Jimmy did not study very earnestly and

took to bad courses for a while. He had money and he was popular;

and he divided his time curiously between musical and motoring

circles. Then he had been sent for a term to Cambridge to see a

little life. His father, remonstrative, but covertly proud of the

excess, had paid his bills and brought him home. It was at

Cambridge that he had met Segouin. They were not much more

than acquaintances as yet but Jimmy found great pleasure in the

society of one who had seen so much of the world and was reputed

to own some of the biggest hotels in France. Such a person (as his

father agreed) was well worth knowing, even if he had not been

the charming companion he was. Villona was entertaining also--a

brilliant pianist--but, unfortunately, very poor.


The car ran on merrily with its cargo of hilarious youth. The two

cousins sat on the front seat; Jimmy and his Hungarian friend sat

behind. Decidedly Villona was in excellent spirits; he kept up a

deep bass hum of melody for miles of the road The Frenchmen

flung their laughter and light words over their shoulders and often

Jimmy had to strain forward to catch the quick phrase. This was

not altogether pleasant for him, as he had nearly always to make a

deft guess at the meaning and shout back a suitable answer in the

face of a high wind. Besides Villona's humming would confuse

anybody; the noise of the car, too.


Rapid motion through space elates one; so does notoriety; so does

the possession of money.